


Water of the Womb

by DarkInuFan



Series: Blood of the Covenant is Thicker than Water of the Womb [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Child Abandonment, Geralt's trying, Jaskier has Abandonment Issues, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Miscarriage, Past Mpreg, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, bad choices for the right reasons, gift fic for myself, how do I tag this clusterfuck?, post mountain scene, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, willful blindness?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29507622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkInuFan/pseuds/DarkInuFan
Summary: Using his boot knife, he carefully pried the seal apart and unfolded the letter to read. After a few minutes, Vesemir sighed and carefully folded the letter back up, tucking it away in his desk where his boys wouldn’t find it easily. “Tell me, what do you know of the contents of this letter?”“That it was to come to you, sir, and that I was to take it myself. That I-“ Jaskier took a breath and spoke something that he hadn’t spoken out loud in decades. “That I was a Witcher’s bastard son and that you would know what to do with me when she passed.”“You are aware that Witchers are sterile, don’t you, boy?”“Yes, uh, yes. Geralt told me at one point. It’s just that, well-“
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Blood of the Covenant is Thicker than Water of the Womb [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167566
Comments: 28
Kudos: 180





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be involving Past MPREG and if you don't like it, I would turn around now. ^_^ They never said what Geralt's second round of mutations involved. I believe a lot of experimentation was involved.

Vesemir had been distracted all morning, though he had never said what it was. He kept looking toward the gate, in a way that told the others that he was expecting company. It was closer to evening when he finally made his way to the drawbridge, kitted up and crossing his arms in his most intimidating posture, effectively blocking passage to the keep.

“Who are you and what do you want?” The boy, for that’s what he looked to be, stood blinking for a few moments before giving a smile and a courtly bow, even if it was a bit strained at the edges. 

“I have come to speak to master Vesemir at my late mother’s behest.”

“Oh, ah, and might I have some water first? It was quite the long trip up that mountain, let me tell you, and-“

“Jaskier!” Geralt came out, having heard the familiar voice. 

“-oh, never mind then. Hello Geralt. Fancy seeing you here?” The boy’s smile turned brittle and his scent soured, making Vesemir resist wrinkling his nose in response. “Right. Well, may I speak with Master Vesemir… if he’s here? I have a letter for him and I was told that this is where he lived. If not, I should just leave. Sorry for bothering you.”

“ _ I  _ am Vesemir. Who was your mother, pup? And for that, who are you?”

“Ah! How terribly rude of me! Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz, at your service, better known as the bard Jaskier, foster son to Earl Alfred Pankratz and the late Lady Diane Pankratz née Sternhart.”

The air seemed to freeze at the mention of those names until Vesemir gave a single firm nod and turned back into the keep. “This way then, Julian. I expect we have quite a bit to talk about. Eskel!” He barely raised his voice, but didn’t need to for it to carry across the courtyard, where a bear-like Witcher was speaking with a young woman with pale hair. “Prepare a guest room. We have a guest that has had a long trip. Geralt. If this is your bard, I expect you would know what of our larder he would like for dinner, since I suspect he hasn’t had any.”

“No, sir.” Jaskier looked askance at Geralt, following behind the master of the keep, “And all I ask for is a cup of water, if you could spare one, and I’ll be on my way after I deliver my message. I wouldn’t want to shovel any more shit, after all.

_ What an odd turn of phrase _ , Vesemir thought as he turned back to fully face the youth, studying his features. The boy’s lips and nose were achingly familiar, along with eyes that he had almost forgotten were once that shade. His parents genes had combined to make a comely young man. “You’re staying the night. The mountain is hard enough to climb in the daylight, let alone after dark. We’ll see how things look in the morning.”

“Ah.” Jaskier blinked before nodding in agreement, taken aback by the intense scrutiny. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good. Come.” They made their way inside the keep and up to what looked like a small study. Sitting down behind a sturdy wooden desk, Vesemir gestured for Jaskier to take one of the simpler chairs in front of it. “Now, you said that your mother left a message for me?”

“Ah, yes… sir.” Sitting how they were, Jaskier felt like he was back in his student days in Oxenfurt, talking to the dean for yet another misdemeanor. Digging through his rucksack, he managed to extract a letter from between the pages of his journal, where it would remain the least damaged for the duration of the trip. The letter was sealed with both red and black waxes, both formal and denoting death, with Vesemir’s name labeled clearly on the front. Handing it over, he sat back to wait. 

Taking the letter, he inspected the seal- unbroken- and that it was the level of detail that denoted that the family crest was used to stamp it shut. This was important, then, at least in Lady Pankratz mind, and to be delivered after her death, if the black wax seal was any indication. 

Using his boot knife, he carefully pried the seal apart and unfolded the letter to read.

After a few minutes, Vesemir sighed and carefully folded the letter back up, tucking it away in his desk where his boys wouldn’t find it easily. “Tell me, what do you know of the contents of this letter?”

“That it was to come to you, sir, and that I was to take it myself. That I-“ Jaskier took a breath and spoke something that he hadn’t spoken out loud in decades. “That I was a Witcher’s bastard son and that you would know what to do with me when she passed.”

“You are aware that Witchers are sterile, don’t you, boy?” 

“Yes, uh, yes. Geralt told me at one point. It’s just that, well-“

“What can you do?” Vesemir’s tone softened slightly as he leaned forward, 

“I have excellent hearing, for one. I can keep perfect pitch. And my eyesight is better than most, if not all of my peers. And, ah…” Here, he hesitated, embarrassed. “I’m a really good tracker.”

“That’s how you made it up the mountain, I assume.” 

“Ah… yes.” Jaskier nodded, tapping the side of his nose. “I mean, it’s not near as good as Geralt’s, but I’m definitely more discerning about scents than the average person.

“Geralt has a tendency to be the exception to many rules.” The boy’s lips twitched in a wry smile before he closed off once more and continued to study the grain of Vesemir’s desk. 

“I wouldn’t know, sir, since he’s my example for most things Witcher in the first place.”

“Ah. Then I would expect you would find most other Witchers a bit… lackluster, in comparison.” 

“I doubt that, sir. I’m sure that everyone has their own specialty.”

“They do.” Vesemir had to give them that, and then decided to give some more details in the hope of getting the boy to talk some more. From what Geralt had told them all over the years, the boy was quite the chatterbox, rarely quiet, even in his sleep. This child sitting in front of him was not who he had come to expect. “Lambert, my youngest, is second to none when it comes to alchemy and the art of bomb making. And Eskel, my oldest, in another lifetime, would have gone to Ban Ard and become their top pupil, if destiny hadn’t intervened. The magic runs thick through his veins. How about you?”

“I-what?”

“Magic, child. The Chaos that runs through your veins.” 

His head was already shaking before Vesemir even finished his sentence, a pained look in his eyes. “Not a drop, I’m afraid. Mother even had me tested at one point by the local mage. I’m as human as anyone would expect.”

“Hmm… Somehow, I doubt that. Humor me, if you would, for a moment.” Standing up, he summoned Jaskier over to the cold hearth and made a very familiar gesture with his hand, pointing at the logs stacked inside. He didn’t push any energy through the sign, but it still threw a few sparks out of habit. 

“Igni.” Stepping up to stand behind Vesemir, the old mentor blinked in temporary surprise at the boy knowing the name of the sign, even if had never attempted it on his own.

“How, ah. Yes, I’m sure that you’ve seen Geralt use it quite often then. Why don’t you give it a try.”

Giving a dry chuckle, Jaskier shook his head, but still held his hand out in a passable approximation of the sign anyway. “It’s never worked for me before, and I doubt this time would be any different.”

“That would be because I doubt Geralt actually taught you how to do it. You picked up the gesture from watching him, then?” 

“Yeah.” Jaskier nodded and Vesemir moved closer, wrapping his hand around Jaskier’s to adjust the position of his fingers ever-so-slightly.

“Just close your eyes and  _ feel  _ the energy. Feel the movement of chaos as it twists in your hand and…” Vesemir stepped back, leaving Jaskier with his hand pointed toward the logs. “...Let go.” He breathed and Jaskier did. It was one thing he missed from when the school was full of students: seeing their faces when they first realized that they could do the impossible. And Jaskier’s face was lit up in the same way, by both awe and the stream of fire now dancing in the hearth. 

“Witcher magic is different from a mage’s Chaos, though it is drawn from largely the same sources. A Witcher’s signs are control, without the proper triggers, the spellwork will fail to even spark. Mages, in contrast, always have chaos humming under their skin, ready to be used. I’m not surprised that the mage that tested you didn’t feel anything.”

“...That makes sense.” Jaskier agreed absently, still staring at the fire that he had created himself, suddenly woozy, whether from the sudden use of chaos he didn’t know he had, or the fact that he had chaos in the first place, he didn’t know.

That- and he suddenly found himself sitting in one of the chairs before the fire- and he hadn’t had a proper meal in days. When he headed up into the mountain, he didn’t dare risk running out of his trail rations before reaching the keep, so had only eaten the minimum amount he could get away with. It was something that he knew well, during lean times traveling, both with and without Geralt. 

Looking up, he nearly missed the office door opening, showing Geralt with a tray balanced on one hand as he pushed his way inside. He must have missed Geralt saying something, or Vesemir just knew the wolf that well, for he just said “A bout of magical exhaustion, that’s all. He’ll be up and around later on.” Geralt grunted and Jaskier lost a moment of time again, because next he opened his eyes, Vesemir had dragged a small table within Jaskier’s reach and put the plate of food on top, pushing a cup of something into his hands and making sure he had a firm grip before stepping back. “Drink, boy, It’ll help.” 

Humming, Jaskier did as commanded and was pleasantly surprised to find that the cup held a delightfully spiced cider. Eventually, he reached over and plucked a few what looked and smelled like brandied cherries out of a small bowl, humming in appreciation as he licked the juice from his fingers. 

Vesemir, instead of retreating back to his desk, had come to sit across from him in an equally comfortable looking chair by the fire, tossing another log in to make it burn brighter. He let Jaskier nibble and finish most of his meal in peace before extending the metaphorical olive branch. “Tell me about yourself.”

“...What?”

“Whatever you would like to tell me.” He looked… genuinely interested, settled comfortably in the seat, giving him his full attention, his fingers laced over his stomach. “Your childhood. I never met Diane personally, but I would hope that she would have given you a good life.”

“The best that she could.” Jaskier shrugged and looked away, thinking. He was surprised that Vesemir would be interested in his childhood at all. Twenty years with Geralt, and they had never shared with each other even the number of siblings they had. “She always thought that my father would come back for me, and when he didn’t, well…” He didn’t know why, but he told Vesemir about how he had been shipped off to Temple School when he was old enough to start learning his letters. How they would whip him when he couldn’t sit still long enough for their liking. How, the only time that he ever came home, was during a month or two during the height of summer, so that his father would be able to find him if he were to ever come back for him. That when he was fourteen and too old to be claimed by the Witchers, he had gone to Oxenfurt and  _ thrived.  _ He learned the seven liberal arts and graduated at the top of his class with an open offer to teach if he ever got the urge. That, instead of living a comfortable and predictable life at the college or a court, the week after graduating he took to his own path with a second-hand lute and the clothes on his back. A few months later, he had made his way to Posada and met Geralt. 

Vesemir hummed along, reacting at the right times as Jaskier talked, never bothering to raise his voice above the low murmur he had taken to in his quieter moments. 

“Why did you follow Geralt?” 

“It sounds stupid, honestly.” Jaskier rubbed his hands together, fiddling with his rings absently. “But I was hoping that eventually staying with Geralt would show me what happened to my father. Why… why he never came back for me.” 

Taking a fortifying sigh, Vesemir studied the youth, seeing the familiar features in him. He was so much like  _ them  _ it nearly hurt. “Knowing him like I do-“

“You know who my father is.”

“Yes. I know both your parents. And knowing them, I can say that your father likely never knew you lived until possibly today. And that your mother would have thought you better off a noble than what the Path can provide and likely never intended to ever see you again.”

“...Oh.” The spark of learning who his father, his  _ parents,  _ were, extinguished in his eyes, dulling them in grief of the unknown.

“But destiny has a funny way of making everything work out in the end. It’s getting late and you need a full night’s sleep.” 

* * *

“...Geralt?” Eskel came inside through the kitchen door, an armful of wood intended for the guest’s room. Geralt was staring at a well-filled plate of a generous portion of one of the loaves they had baked this morning, as well as some of Eskel’s best goat cheese and “Vesemir’s going to be pissed you broke into our winter stores already, especially since we still have fresh fruit on the trees.”

“I need to apologize to him.” 

“Alright. But brandied cherries?” 

Geralt nodded, taking the plate and a mug of the apple cider they had just finished pressing not a week ago, some of their precious spices wafting up in the steam. “He likes them.”

“Oh. Ok. He’s your bard, I guess, you would know the best.”

“My…” the rest of the sentence was caught in his throat and he shook his head, escaping through to deliver the plate to Vesmir’s office. 

Upstairs, he saw Vesemir holding Jaskier by the arms, guiding him down to sit in one of the chairs by a freshly-lit fire. “What happened?” He asked, nearly dropping the plate in his worry, but managed to set it on Vesemir’s desk instead.

“Just a bit of magical exhaustion, that’s all. He’ll be up and around later on.” Vesemir’s eyes flicked toward the fire. “He had more power than I think either of us expected. Reminds me of Eskel’s first Igni, to be honest. And he said that you never taught him how to cast the signs. Quite impressive.” Geralt’s eyes vacillated between their relaxed width to narrow slits in shock, his already pale face fading to potion-pale. “Thank you for bringing that up.” Nodding toward the plate, he dismissed the younger Witcher, releasing him to leave if he wished.

Geralt took it and retreated, not that Vesemir expected any different.

Eskel found Geralt in the kitchen for the second time, this time sitting at the table with a mug of something significantly stronger cradled between his hands and staring off into the middle distance. Knowing better than to disturb him, Eskel grabbed his own mug and poured from the bottle of rotgut in the middle of the table, sitting down across from Geralt to wait. Eventually, he was rewarded by Geralt’s eyes focusing on Eskel’s and taking a deep swig of the vodka before looking down at the table. “He has your talent for signs, apparently.”

“So he really is…”

Geralt nodded, his fists clenching around his mug, absently glad that it was the sturdy iron-banded one. “Yeah. I promise, I didn’t know.”

“I know.” Eskel spoke softly. “You did what you thought was best. It looks like he grew up strong.”

Geralt shook his head. “I broke him. He was with me for twenty years, Es, and I finally broke him.”

“And now you have a second chance to make it up to him.”

“Third, if he allows it, which he shouldn’t. I spent two decades fucking up my second. He’s mine, and I just kept abandoning him.”

“You said that you didn’t know. And you probably wouldn’t have known still, if you weren’t up here to visit Ciri.”

“...He could always find me.” Geralt mused.

“Geralt?” 

“And he knew what scents were too much. I never said anything about it, even knowing half the perfumes in his bag were too intense for me, he never opened any of them when I was around, He grew up with those senses, Eskel. I don’t know how he could stand being in towns, let alone cities.”

“He probably knew nothing else then. He’s used to his senses, unlike we ever were.” Eskel swirled his drink. “Tell me about my son.”

“He’s the brightest star in the night sky.” Geralt stated immediately, getting a pleased hum from Eskel in response. “Smart- dangerously so- and creative. His tongue gets him  _ in  _ as much trouble as it gets him  _ out  _ of it. Lambert would like him.”

“Sounds like it. I can’t wait for them to meet.” Whatever small spark of light and pride in Geralt’s expression fell as he shook his head.

“I doubt that they will. He has the same yearning for the Path that we do and he already said that he was only running an errand.”

“But you could ask…?”

“No, I can’t. He… it’s his own decision.”

“Can’t. Or won’t?” Eskel asked, knowing Geralt.

“I won’t force myself on him after pushing him away.”

“Geralt-“

“That’s enough, Eskel.” Vesemir cut in, announcing himself from the door before looking between his two boys and grabbing his own drink and sitting at the head of the table. “He’s asleep, if you must know. And Ciri?”

“In her room, either asleep or reading.” 

Vesemir nodded and took a swig, manfully suppressing the gag and shudder from Lambert’s brew. His youngest’s concoctions had improved over the years, at least, but it could make a drunk blind and strip paint from the walls. “The boy is a delight. He was apparently under the impression that his father would come back for him this entire time, so I imagine that was why he started following you when the chance presented himself, despite all your efforts to the contrary. It’s funny, how destiny can work like that. I would wonder if Ciri would have followed you the same way, feeling that pull. But you brought the girl straight back here instead of pushing her away.”

“I didn’t have a choice!” Geralt stood up, defending himself. “Julian was safe. The land was at peace and Diane wished for a living child. He grew up safe. He should have never followed me. He needed to stay safe!” 

“For the first few years, yes. He was safe. You did well and he was never a victim of the sackings. But what about when he was an adult? When  _ he  _ found  _ you,  _ you should have brought him home then.”

“You should have brought your bard, then. You trust him-“

“With my life.”

“- but not enough to trust him with your family. And if you would have actually listened to him for five minutes, you would have known exactly who he was.”

“He never shuts up!”

“Yes. There are people like that.” Vesemir stayed calm, staring at Geralt until he sat back down. “Who can’t stand the silence, just like others can’t stand the dark. And if you would have shown any interest in what he was saying, he would have said things of actual value. How long did it take you to find out his name?”

“I…” Geralt cringed, thinking back at just how many times in the beginning that he had called the boy ‘Bard’ as if it was his actual name. “Too long.”

“And you still didn’t use it.” Eskel spoke quietly and Geralt shook his head, looking away. No, he hadn’t. Not until his throat was nearly torn out by the djinn.

The Djinn.

Geralt pushed his mug away and hunched over, swallowing and willing the sudden wave of nausea away at the realization. He had nearly killed his  _ son  _ for want of a nap.

“Geralt? Geralt!” Suddenly, Geralt found himself enclosed in Eskel’s arms. “Hey-hey, focus on my voice. Breathe with me.” 

Geralt’s eyes were squeezed shut and Eskel was right to assume the whine coming from the back of his throat was subconscious on Geralt’s part. Looking up in desperation, he silently asked Vesemir for help. Geralt hadn’t dropped so hard and fast in years. Getting up, Vesemir knelt in front of his boys, Geralt pulled into Eskel’s lap and securely wrapped in his arms. 

“Geralt.” Vesemir put his hand on Geralt’s knee and gave it a squeeze. “Can you hear me? You don’t have to open your eyes, just nod.” It took a moment, but he did so. “Good.” He gave the knee another squeeze. “Tell me what is going through that head of yours.”

“I-” Geralt swallowed, his voice raspy. “I nearly killed him. I told him to shut up and the Djinn nearly killed him.”

“Hmm. From the way he tells it, he was drunk and you were having one of your insomniac episodes. Not the best time for decision-making all-around, I would say.” Vesemir let out a low chuckle. “Here I heard that is where you met Yennefer as well. Most children, when faced with seeing their parent having sex in the basement of a half-collapsed building, wouldn’t react with the kind of reverence he did. I wonder how he will act when he finds out.”

Not the kindest way to pull him out of one of his bad spirals, but it got his thoughts away from the blood on his hands. Instead, Geralt blanched. Mister Geralt ‘Manwhore of Kaer Morhen’ of Rivia. Yes, Jaskier definitely got his libido from him and not just because he chose to become a bard. Though, it wasn’t as if Eskel hadn’t had his own tales to spin in the past century as well. “I’m going to make him chainmail braies.”

“Okay! And you’re drunk.” Eskel chirped, standing up and dragging Geralt along with him. Not to mention, that they all knew it was a little late for that anyway. “Time for even Witchers to go to bed! Night Vesemir.”

“Good night.” Vesemir gave both boys an amused look as Eskel practically marched Geralt up to their shared room. “Geralt, don’t forget your potion!” 

“He won’t!” Eskel assured, waving off the old man’s worry. It’s not as if Geralt forgetting his potion when they were intimate was the source of their issue in the first place. 

He would have thought, having gone through the consequences of forgetting the damn potion, that the boys would be more diligent about it, but no. Vesemir sighed and quaffed his drink, immediately regretting it as he coughed and sputtered half of it back across the table. 


	2. He's gone!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of mutations, birth, miscarriage and giving a child over to adopted parents.

“He’s gone.” Geralt announced the next morning, walking across the great hall toward the front doors at clip and pulling his leather cuirass on at the same time.

“Who?”

“Jaskier!” Geralt replied tersely as he lashed both swords to his back and walked out the main doors.

“...What happened to ‘not going to ask him to stay’?” Eskel muttered to himself, handing Ciri her bowl of porridge and sitting down across from her to eat his own. “Looks like it’s just you and me training today, kid. You okay with that?” 

“Jaskier? Like the bard?” Ciri asked, doctoring her porridge with some honey and slices of fresh plum. She hadn’t exactly seen who Vesemir’s guest was last night, since she had been ushered to bed soon after, but was looking forward to meeting them this morning instead. “He would play at my name day feast each year… except last year.” Because by the time her naming day had rolled by, Cintra was ashes and she was up here, training to be a Witcher. 

“Ah. Maybe if you ask nicely, he’ll play something for you. Though I didn’t see him carrying a lute last night, so he may not be able to.”

“That’s ok. He was really good at telling stories as well. My favorite was about the wolf that lost its puppy and then found it again.”

“That sounds like… a really nice story. I’d like to hear it some time too.” It also sounded like it would be a very familiar one as well. Either talking about Geralt eventually caving in and getting his child surprise… or about Jaskier’s own hopes in discovering the Witcher that claimed him as their child. Had Jaskier known that his father was from the Wolf school? He knew enough to ask for Vesemir, but was surprised to see Geralt was there as well. 

Honestly, he had hoped to actually meet his son after last night. Maybe he should have pushed Geralt harder on details on how to find the child that neither of them were prepared for. Especially after… after his failings with Deidre. Child of the Black Sun or no, he should have taken her under his wing sooner. He just hoped that it wasn’t too late for Ciri. 

* * *

Riding out on Roach, Geralt shouldn’t have been surprised just how far Jaskier had gotten before he caught up. “Jaskier!” The bard hunched his shoulders and moved over to one side of the path, but didn’t stop moving. He didn’t bother to turn and look either when he heard Roach slow down to match his pace, her breath on the back of his neck.

“I’m going already, Geralt. I’m sorry for overstaying my welcome.”

“No, that’s not-“ Geralt cut himself off with a growl, ruffling his hair in a pure gesture of frustration. “You left without breakfast.”

At that, Jaskier absently adjusted his bag and looked at Geralt out of the corner of his eye. “I have trail rations.” 

“And we have more brandied cherries.”

“Are you-“ Jaskier stopped and finally turned to give Geralt an incredulous look. “Are you trying to  _ bribe me with sweets _ Geralt?” 

“If it works, yes?” He hadn’t even known  _ why _ he had said that. “Look, I just want to…” The creak of his leather gloves grounded him as he strangled Roach’s reins. “What I said was wrong. On the mountain. It’s not you, shoveling all the shit in my life, it's me.” He took a deep breath and looked up to lock eyes with cold blue ones- had he killed the light behind them permanently? “And for everything else. Every time I tried to push you away or leave you behind. It was wrong and I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” His voice sent shivers down his spine. If Jaskier never held that cold tone for him again, it would be too soon. 

“I’m trying to be better. For Ciri’s sake. For- for your sake as well.”

“Good. She deserves better treatment than I ever had.”

“The only reason I even know the slightest of how to take care of her is because of you.”

“I’m glad that I’ve been able to give you that much, at least. Now, I need to get going.”

Jaskier turned away, only for his elbow to be caught in Geralt’s grasp. When had he dismounted from Roach? The only thing that stopped him from immediately pulling away was the fact that, as a rule, Geralt Never Touched. He had never initiated contact, not in the entire time that they had known each other. Even the few times where Geralt had carried him, Jaskier had still been the one to reach out first. 

“Please.” And that was another first. “At least have breakfast with us before going. Eskel would like to meet you.”

“Who?”

“He’s-“ He didn’t want to confess to Jaskier, of all places, on the side of a road, in the middle of a forest and halfway up a mountain. “A really big fan of yours.”

Jaskier blinked, his brows furrowing. That… didn’t sound like that was what Geralt had meant to say. Still, Geralt was at least attempting -badly- to apologize. It would be rude to ignore that. It was more than he had gotten in… well, ever. “Well… I can’t deny a fan then, can I?”

Taking it as an agreement, Geralt nodded and mounted Roach. “Come on then.” He held out his hand to help Jaskier up behind the saddle, only to get a confused and mildly offended look in response before Jaskier turned and started hiking his way back up the path to the keep. “...Jaskier?”

“‘Don’t Touch Roach.’”

“Ah. Hn.” Something in his gut curdled as he watched Jaskier walk away. “Right.” Dismounting again, Geralt gave Roach an apologetic pat for jostling her saddle so much in such a short amount of time. “Go home, girl.” He instructed, giving her flank a firm pat to send her on her way. Roach snorted, but left at a trot, making her own way back to the keep.

“Wha-Geralt!  _ What are you doing? _ Roach is-“ Jaskier looked between Roach’s rapidly retreating backside and Geralt, who was casually walking along the path a half-step behind Jaskier.

“You didn’t want to ride, so I’m walking with you instead.”

“...Why?” He had already agreed to return to the keep, wasn’t that enough. It wasn’t like Jaskier would make it far anyway if he decided to make a run for it. He was quick, but he knew for a fact that Geralt was faster. 

Geralt watched Jaskier out of the corner of his eyes, for all intents and purposes, seeming like he was out for a casual stroll. “Because I want to.” 

The silence stretched between them. For the most part, Geralt was enjoying the silence, but the longer his s- the bard was quiet, the tenser the atmosphere seemed to get. Jaskier, for his part, was mostly just confused. But he knew that his noise was one of Geralt’s pet peeves, so he kept silent to keep the peace.

It was, surprisingly, Geralt that broke it. “You’re not carrying your lute.”

“No.”

“Did something… happen to it?” Please, he hoped not. That lute was one of the most precious things that Jaskier owned. If something happened to it, he would have to find some way to replace it.

“I have a friend- Dijkstra- holding onto it for me.” 

Geralt sucked in a breath between his teeth. Was Jaskier in trouble? He knew that name. He was the director of the Redanian Secret Service, a network of spies that spanned the entirety of the Northern Kingdoms, as well as possibly down into Nilfgaard as well. “Are you in trouble?”

Jaskier looked out of the corner of his eye. “No more than I usually am.” Why would Geralt care? “He just wants to make sure I make it back in time for my next assignment.”

“Assignment?” Wait, no, that’s not what he meant to ask! Geralt held back a grimace. “Dijkstra’s a spy.”

“Yes, I know.” Jaskier nodded. “I’ve known that for a while.” 

“Then why are you working with him?”

“Because I  _ don’t have a choice. _ ” Jaskier hissed out, both preparing to run or to receive a blow. 

“It’s dangerous work.”

“No more than being a Witcher is.” Geralt winced at that, for a moment envisioning Jaskier with a medallion and twinned swords on his back. Weapon callouses instead of ones from lute strings. 

“What does Dijkstra have you do?”

Jaskier shrugged. “This and that. It’s amazing how a bard can be both the center of attention and yet completely ignored at the same time. People forget that the décor can have good ears. And an even better memory.”

“When we get back, I’ll teach you Supirre. Or Eskel will. He’s better with signs. And teaching.”

Jaskier was torn between excitement, curiosity, and wariness. The caution won. “Whatever that is, it’s no good to me if I nearly pass out after using it.”

“You didn’t pass out.” Geralt watched Jaskier for signs of tiredness, even after supposedly sleeping the night before. “You did a lot better than most trainees did. I couldn’t even throw sparks for the first month after the first trials.” As if to emphasize his point, Geralt threw a weak Igni, sparks scattering on the dirt of the path harmlessly. “It takes control, time and practice. Your endurance for using the signs will grow as you use them.”

“And what if I never do?”

“Then that’s your choice. ‘It’s better to have a weapon at hand that you will never use, than in need of one that you don’t.’”

“Who said that?” 

“Vesemir, a few times, but mostly our signs master while we were all training.” 

Jaskier snorted. “Sounds like something a teacher would say, alright.” Geralt hummed in agreement and they fell into a more comfortable silence this time. 

By the time they got back to the keep, it was closer to lunch and Jaskier was humming something absently, making something in Geralt’s chest loosen at the sound. “The kitchen’s this way.” 

“Alright.” He hitched his pack higher before letting it slip onto the table with a forced casual air. “What can I do?”

“You can go-'' Geralt stopped, realizing that Jaskier had only seen Vesemir’s office and his own bedroom the previous night. He wouldn’t know where to find the others this time of day. But then again… he wanted to test a theory. If Jaskier’s nose was as sensitive as he thought, he would have no problem tracking the others through the keep. “Go find Eskel and ask him to come in for lunch.”

Raising his brow, Jaskier didn’t even bother to vocalize the question on how he should go about doing so. In response, Geralt held out his sleeve-covered arm. “I- We share a bed when we’re both up here at the same time.” That… didn’t explain anything until he looked down at the familiar black cloth and realized that it was actually Geralt’s sleep shirt. And if he had worn that last night while sleeping next to this Eskel, then his scent would have transferred enough to pick out from Geralt’s usual scents.

“Oh. I- okay…” Jaskier took the arm delicately with a blush, looking up just enough to get an encouraging nod from Geralt. Doing something that he had never done in front of another living person since he was a small child and the habit beaten out of him, Jaskier took a deep sniff at the crux of Geralt’s arm, opening his mouth slightly as he sorted through the scents. Between Geralt’s natural scent, old sex and the young scent he distantly remembered as Princess Cirilla’s, an unknown but strangely familiar scent was left. He had to physically pull away, or he would just bury his nose into Geralt’s chest and just breathe in the comforting and familiar scent. 

“I think I have it.” Jaskier whispered and Geralt nodded, taking back his arm.

“Take your time. Lunch isn’t going to be for a while yet. And yell if you get lost.” 

“Right.” It was the last thing he wanted to do and bit down a whine even thinking about it. What he would give to be able to just bask in Geralt’s scent again. “I’ll just… go.” 

Resisting the urge to pant and snort as he circled the room, (Young lords don’t do such uncouth things, Julian!) he left his mouth open the slightest and breathed deeply until he picked up both Princess Cirilla’s familiar and Eskel’s less-so scents- luckily going the same direction- and followed. 

Geralt watched Jaskier out of the corner of his eye as he prepared slices of bread and hunks of cheese for their lunches. His technique was unrefined, but subtle. If he didn’t know what Jaskier was doing, he would think that Jaskier was just investigating the room before he left. He would have to play a game of Hunt with him sometime, to see how well he could track in general. 

No, but that would involve Jaskier letting him back into his life, which, if he had any sense, he wouldn’t. 

Then again, Jaskier wasn’t exactly known for letting his head lead over his heart. 

Tracking Eskel (and Princess Cirilla, apparently) was both simple and difficult. He didn’t have to parse through too many scents, but the ones that were there, were so heavily overlapped that he very nearly was led astray several times. Still, he followed the freshest scent path (which also overlapped a frequently-used scent path, apparently) through what looked like what was once a Great Hall, down a few flights of stairs, and finally out through a pair of heavily reinforced oak doors to a courtyard. Walking outside, he no longer needed to use his nose to track them, but instead his ears. The clack of wooden training swords, along with a pair of voices- one young and female, the other older, deep but very calm. 

Coming around the corner, he stopped to just watch the two. Princess Cirilla was… She looked like she was thriving. Sure, the clothing she wore was the last thing he would consider fashionable, but the smile on her face more than made up for it. That would mean that the man was Eskel.

Eskel was… large. While he and Geralt were nearly of a height, Eskel was nearly an entire head taller than both of them, and his shoulders alone were half again wider. His hair was a dark brown color that glinted red in the summer light, flopping mostly to one side, just short of being shaggy. Unlike Geralt, Eskel knew what color was, wearing a red-striped studded brigandine. 

“You came back.” Stepping back from Princess Cirilla’s attack, Eskel turned and gave him a brilliant- if an unfortunately scar-warped- smile. “I didn’t think you would when Geralt ran after you this morning.”

“Yeah, well…” He didn’t really know  _ why  _ he let Geralt draw him back to the keep himself, honestly. 

“Jaskier!” Thankfully, he didn’t have to answer, for he suddenly found himself with his arms full of teenage royalty.

“Ah!” Jaskier grinned, nodding his head since he couldn’t give his usual bow. “Princess Cirilla, I’m glad to find you thriving.”

She nodded, but affected a pout. “How many times must I tell you, call me Ciri.”

“At least once more, Princess.” He replied automatically in a verbal dance they had had ever since she could remember. It had started as keeping on Calanthe’s good side, but had become more of a joke between the two as Ciri had grown and become more independent.

Feeling eyes on him, Jaskier looked up to meet a softly smiling Eskel. “...May I help you?”

Tilting his head, Eskel continued to study the bard’s face before shaking his head. “I never thought I would get to meet you.”

“Oh. Ok.” That was… strange. “Geralt told me you were a fan of my work.”

“Oh. Ah,” Eskel finally looked away, blushing and absently scratching at the scar that bisected his cheek from temple to lip. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

He was getting the feeling that Geralt had lied and that Eskel hadn’t a clue about a single one of his songs. But still, he was here already and Eskel did actually seem genuinely interested in meeting him. But if it wasn’t for his bardic skills, he hadn’t the foggiest idea why. Not sure how to continue the conversation without making it more awkward for either one of them, he took a page from Geralt’s book and hummed before turning his attention back to the girl in his arms. 

“I dare say, you’ve gotten taller since I saw you last. At this rate, you’ll be the tallest of us all!” 

Ciri laughed, pulling back enough to talk to Jaskier comfortably while still in his arms. “You always say that!”

“Because it’s true!” 

“...Can you sing a couple songs before you leave again?” She asked, sobering slightly from her joy.

“Whatever you wish for, so long as I’m allowed to. Though I do warn you, I don’t have any of my instruments with me at the moment.”

“That’s ok.” Ciri leaned forward and rested her ear over Jaskier’s heart. “You always do the best you can.”

“That’s right.” Closing his eyes most of the way, he ran his fingers through her chopped hair and hummed slightly, swaying both of them in the breeze.

Shifting his weight, Eskel drew Jaskier’s attention away from Ciri and the bard looked up at him. “I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted. I’m assuming Geralt sent you out here?”

Jaskier nodded. “He sent me to tell you that he’s preparing lunch.” 

Eskel nodded and walked close enough to clap Jaskier’s shoulder in one paw-like hand. “I’ll head in then. You two can come join us when you’re ready.”

* * *

“He’s beautiful, Ger. He has your nose and body type.” Making his way across the kitchen, he wrapped his arms around Geralt from behind and settled his forehead on his shoulder. “You didn’t tell him though.”

Geralt shook his head, leaning back slightly into Eskel’s chest. “No, I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not out in the middle of the woods. He has your lips and hair though.”

Humming in agreement, they waited for the others to come in before disengaging so that Geralt could put the last serving plate on the table. Lunch wasn’t usually a major meal, more often skipped than not, when it was only Witchers in the keep, but everyone trickled in that day, Vesemir taking the head of the table with a book in one hand he intended to read during the meal. 

Geralt had to smile, watching as Jaskier sat down next to Ciri, talking familiarly with each other, both smiling their real smiles as they served themselves from the dishes in the middle. The meal was both somehow quiet and relaxed as the two youngest talked about various nonsensical things. 

The eldest three, on the other hand, were having a silent conversation over their heads, consisting completely of small gestures and twitches of their face. Mostly, it came down to Vesemir giving the boys a questioning look, to which Eskel shook his head. Vesemir raised his brow at Geralt, who looked away and pushed food around his plate in an obvious case of nerves. Making a decision, Vesemir cleared his throat, looking over at Ciri. “Ciri, after lunch, you have a bestiary lesson in the library with me.”

Ciri, predictably, protested. She whined that Jaskier had promised to sing for her. To which, the bard cut in before she could truly work herself up. “I won’t leave before singing for you, Princess, I swear it. But your lessons are important too.”

Ciri blinked and pouted, but eventually acquiesced reluctantly. “You’d better!”

“Ciri!” Geralt reprimanded the same time that Eskel spoke up to Jaskier.

“You handled that well. Do you have any siblings?”

Jaskier blinked, not expecting that question, let alone with such an earnest and open expression behind it. “Four younger sisters.” He answered with a nod. “Ah, and a brother, finally. Jakub. He’s only a few summers old and was a surprise to all of us.” 

“How is Essi doing?” Ciri asked, tugging on Jaskier’s sleeve.

“Great.” The bard lit up. “She decided to settle down in Vizima.” 

Catching Geralt’s expression, Jaskier couldn’t help but to give a small chuckle. “I thought I told you she was one of my younger sisters.”

“You said she was  _ like  _ a sister to you.”

Jaskier hummed bobbing his head a bit. “Well, adopted sister, for all intents. There’s Ellen, then Essi, Beatrice- she was Pavetta’s friend, by the way, and why I was invited to play at her betrothal feast- and then Priscilla is my youngest sister.  _ That was an awkward class to teach. _ ” He muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Essi still has that pearl, by the way, so thank you.”

Geralt grunted, looking away but nodded either way. 

“You teach?”

“Oh, yes. A small price to pay to have a room to stay in over the winter at Oxenfurt, but worth it.”

“Let me guess, you teach music.” Geralt nodded in agreement, but Jaskier laughed and shook his head, surprising Geralt.

“You would think so, but no. I can’t stand teaching kids that are only learning an instrument because it’s required of them to graduate, then never pick up their piece ever again once they do. They have no passion, for the most part. No, I teach rhetoric. How to have a good debate.” He cleared up, seeing the blank faces on Geralt and Eskel’s faces. Ciri nodded knowingly- possibly because she had participated in structured arguments ever since she was old enough to talk as part of her princess training. 

“Speaking of teaching.” Vesemir stood up, “Ciri. It’s time for your afternoon lessons. Let’s leave these three to clean up. I’m sure you can talk to Jaskier more afterwards.” 

Grumbling and groaning about  _ book work,  _ Ciri did eventually follow Vesemir, but only after giving Jaskier another brief but strong hug. “I’ll talk to you later, Cub.”

“Okay. You promise.”

Jaskier nodded. “I promise.” 

“Geralt, sit.” Eskel’s voice was stern and Jaskier looked over just in time to see him force Geralt back down onto the bench seat, dishes he was trying to pick up from lunch clattering back onto the table, luckily not breaking after being dropped. 

Looking between the two, Jaskier went to stand up. “Look, if you two need to talk, don’t let me get in your way.”

“No!” Eskel reached over and grabbed Jaskier’s hand in a surprisingly delicate grip. “No. Please. Sit. We need to…” Eskel stuttered, drawing a deep calming breath. “We need to talk to you. It’s important.”

Studying Eskel’s earnest expression, as well as Geralt’s reluctant nod, Jaskier decided to sit back down. Eskel didn’t let go. “Alright. I’m listening.”

“I… We…” Now that they were actually having this conversation, Eskel had no clue how to even start it. “Geralt?”

Geralt was doing no better, looking as if he would float away completely if it wasn’t for Eskel’s grounding hand on his arm. “Diane Sternhart.” Geralt finally managed to spit out through the strangling in his throat.

“Yes…?” 

“I met her. Once.” Geralt’s eyes were focused on the past. “She had just lost her baby and I needed a wet nurse. The Path is no place for an infant.”

With that, Jaskier paled, getting an inkling of what Geralt was trying to say. He stayed silent, hoping to Melitele that he was wrong. “So you…” Jaskier eventually had to prompt, his patience wearing thin. “What? Found an abandoned baby in the woods or something?”

“More like ‘or something’.” Eskel murmured, giving Geralt’s arm a squeeze, drawing Jaskier’s attention. If this had to with Geralt, why was he here? To give Geralt support, yes, but aside from that?

“The mages. They made me go through the mutations twice.”

“Yes, you told me that. It’s why your hair is white.”

Geralt nodded and swallowed, his throat clicking in the process. “They gave me a lot of… experimental mutations.”

“They were sick fucks.”  Jaskier blinked at that. Eskel seemed… he never would have thought the larger Witcher would ever curse out loud. He just didn’t seem the type.

But it made Geralt crack the smallest smile while he ducked his head. “A lot of them we didn’t know about until they were triggered. Eskel and I…”

“We’re lovers. Would be married if it was allowed, but we’ve been together ever since we met as kids.”

“Yes.” Geralt nodded, glad to let Eskel take the emotional side of the conversation. “One of the mutations… gave me a womb.”

Geralt fell silent, letting Jaskier parse what he would from that. “But ‘Witchers are sterile.’”

Eskel snorted, amused by Jaskier’s imitation of Geralt’s… unique accent. “Witcher seed is, for the most part, sterile, yes. But we think the Mages wanted to start to breed Witchers. Geralt was the only one to survive those trials.”

“So, what, are you saying you’re my  _ Mother?”  _ Jaskier’s voice was faint, but he held on admirably. Or maybe not so much, as he started giggling hysterically, Standing up, Jaskier started pacing in circles, pulling his hair. “Fuck.  _ FUCK!”  _

“Jaskier-“

“Don’t touch me!” He stopped, far out of their reach, and crouched, his head hanging low as he attempted to control his breathing, bouts of giggles escaping. “No, you don’t get to touch me, Geralt!” 

“The path is no place for a child, let alone an infant.” And, oh, hadn’t he heard that before, concerning Princess Cirilla. “I was… unprepared. To take care of you. I didn’t even know, until I had you in camp one night. I thought the pains were an injury that was healing incorrectly.”

“How could you  _ not know?”  _ Jaskier hissed, “When women get pregnant, they-“ Jaskier lost his words, puffing out his cheeks and gesturing a huge belly instead.

“Not always.” Eskel was the one to answer. “I’ve seen it one or two other times on the path, where the woman had no discernible bump before giving birth. The baby is held closer to the spine instead. Some creatures are like that as well.”

“And so you just, what, dumped me off on the first woman you came across.”

Geralt shook his head silently. “No. I tried to take care of you, at first. You were so small. And fragile. I couldn’t provide for you and hunt at the same time. And I couldn’t just leave you at camp while I went out to fill contracts.”

“And you wouldn’t be able to just leave me to be watched over in town either.” Jaskier understood Geralt’s logic, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. “A Witcher with a baby is suspicious enough.”

“Yes.” Geralt nodded. “Diane had just lost her child to a Lamia that had a taste for infants. Seeing her grief… it was the last thread. She wouldn’t let you go, when I asked her to watch over you while I went on the hunt. It was… You didn’t cry. You never let anyone else hold you before.”

Jaskier nodded along, still refusing to look up from where his hands hung limp between his knees. “She told me I would cry if anyone else picked me up.”

“Yes. I spent a month, killing every monster within a day’s ride of Lettenhove before I could leave.”

“And then you never came back.” 

“It was better for you, if I didn't.”

“So you say.” He attempted, so hard, to keep the accusation out of his voice. “But what of when my teeth grew in and I grew fangs as well? The literal years where they had no idea what to do with me, when I would cry myself to sleep because my head felt like it would explode because my senses were just too much.”

“And when I got too much for them to handle, Earl Alfred, Diane’s  _ husband,  _ had me sent off to a temple school, where they exorcised me at least once a year, because I was obviously possessed, because no proper little lordling shouldn’t be able to sit down for lessons without being lashed to the chair first. It was a  _ relief  _ when they sent me off to Oxenfurt.”

“How many times?” Geralt rasped out, pained.

“How many times… what?” 

“How many times did those whoresons tie you down and nearly kill you?”

Jaskier just stared, then shrugged and turned away. “Enough.”

“Too many times.” If Geralt read Jaskier’s closed-off body language correctly. 

“Yeah, well. It’s the past.” Their conversation faded while Jaskier re-lived his life at the temple and Geralt studied his face like he never had in the past two decades of their acquaintance. Now that he knew what to look for, he started beating himself up for not seeing it. His eyes should have given it away. They were his mother’s-  _ Jaskier’s grandmother’s- _ eyes. This whole time, and he was right under his nose this entire time.

“Julian Sternhart.”

“What?” Jaskier looked up just enough that he could see one crystalline blue eye through his fringe.

“I was always keeping one ear out for that name. Any news that any one of us heard connected to that name.”

“Oh.” Jaskier blinked, contemplating that fact. “You wouldn't have heard much then.”

“No, unfortunately. It didn’t help that I switched routes with Lambert some time back. He usually patrols the coast now.”

“Avoiding Kerack.”

Reluctantly, Geralt nodded. “To reduce the risk of connecting us.”

Jaskier barked out a bitter laugh. “Little late for that then, huh?” 

“I-“ Geralt winced. “Yes. It would be.” It didn’t matter so much anymore about anyone finding out about Julian the Witcher’s child, when Jaskier the White Wolf’s Bard was far more infamous- and thus a larger target for Nilfgaard. “Please stay here.”

Jaskier shook his head. “I already told you, I can’t.” And in that moment, Geralt hated Dijkstra more than anyone else, where he had previously been ambivalent about the man. “I have a job to do. And besides, you don’t really want me here. You just want to assuage your guilty conscience, finding out who I was.”

“No! Jaskier, I…” but Geralt didn’t know how to even argue how he was wrong. That he missed Jaskier, whether being his son, or his best friend. 

“What kind of job do you do?” Eskel, who had been mostly quiet and observing, asked. “Can’t you delay it for a while.” 

“No, I really can’t. I’m really pushing it, by insisting I help the girls go through Mother’s things and executing her will. My window is already starting to get really narrow. I’m already going to have to take the fastest way south that I can when I get off this blasted mountain.” 

“Where is Dijkstra sending you?” Geralt growled out and Jaskier winced, tensing for a blow.

“Nilfgaard. Where else?” He answered with more false bravado than he actually felt.

“NO, I forbid it!” Geralt roared and Jaskier snarled back, jumping back to his feet.

“No, you don’t get to forbid me from doing my  _ Job. _ You gave that up when you sent me away from that mountain. Nay, you gave it up when you  _ abandoned me _ in Lettenhove!” 

“Geralt, please.” Eskel grabbed Geralt and manhandled him back onto the bench seat, looking between the two like he wished he knew how to de-escalate the situation between the two without completely alienating one or both of them. “Julian. Or would you like me to call you Jaskier instead? Please. Sit down.”

Jaskier blinked at the non-sequitur, backing off but not letting down his guard completely as he looked at… well, looked at his father. “Only Alfred and my professors ever called me _Julian_.”

“Jaskier, then.” Eskel nodded, “I’ve been calling you Julian in my head this whole time, I’m sorry. Please. Sit.” 

Reluctantly, he did so. “You’ve only just met me. Unless you’re lying about that too.”

“No,” Eskel shook his head while he calmly pet Geralt until he started to calm down. “But I’ve known about you since Geralt came back that winter and told me that he had given birth to a boy and named him Julian before giving him up to be fostered in a noble house. We had to keep it hushed up before the sackings, for both yours and Geralt’s safety, but we eventually told Vesemir as well. He actually encouraged Geralt to go get you when you were old enough to start training… and then the progrom happened.”

Being a fan of history as he was, as well as his study of Witcher lore in general, he had come across multiple accounts over the years of the slaughter of the various Witcher schools and the effective death of the Witchers’ Guild in general. Jaskier looked around the kitchens and the main cooking fire, out to the great hall on the other side of the open-backed fireplace. He could only imagine what the keep looked like in its prime, with dozens of boys in various stages of training. How, in the winter, the keep would seem to be bursting at the seams with Witchers spending the cold season among family and friends. Now, there were only a handful left, easily outnumbered by the ghosts that still haunted the halls. 

“You would have been five.” Geralt spoke up. “I couldn’t have your death on my conscience as well. Not like…”

A cold trickle ran down Jaskier’s spine, something in the back of his mind pushing to get the answer, any answer. “Geralt.” Oh, and how calling him that felt wrong, somehow, now. “How many siblings do I have?”

Geralt looked confused before he understood what Jaskier was really asking. How many other children had he abandoned to destiny? “Just Ciri. The others… I never show, so I’ve never known until it's too late. Most of the time it is either an injury while fighting, or the toxicity of a potion that purges the infant before its viable.”

“...Oh.” He replied faintly. He didn’t know if that was worse. “I’m sor-“

“Don’t.” Geralt cut him off. “You had a right to know.”

“Still.” Geralt sighed, leaning into Eskel. Noon, and it had already been a long day. “...Have I ever been there, when…”

Geralt had to think for a moment before shaking his head. “After, yes, a few times. But not during any of my… incidents.” Calling them miscarriages always seemed… wrong, somehow. Women had miscarriages. He was a murderer, no matter how many times Eskel tried to say differently. He thought that the children- boys, all of them- would have thrived like Julian- Jaskier- had, given the chance. 

Jaskier thought back to how his mother- his foster mother- acted after giving birth to his younger siblings, how her demeanor would change as she recovered from the birth and bonded with another daughter- or, finally, a son. 

Then he compared it to the times when Geralt seemed… off. More suicidal than usual when it came to hunts. The lingering scent of blood that would hover around him like an ill miasma, even though he didn’t have any visible wounds. He had thought, each time, that Geralt had just healed incredibly quickly. Or that he had missed a spot when scrubbing his gear of viscera- though the blood always smelled fresh. 

‘A few’ he said. He recalled the smell at least once on the low end of ‘a few’ years. Nearly every other year, if he thought too hard over it. 

“Ah. I see.” That most of those ‘incidents’ happened in the early spring, often before they met up for the summer. No, none of those babies would be viable- here, he looked between Geralt and Eskel… his parents- especially if they were conceived in the depths of winter. 

Sensing the rising discomfort, Eskel stood up, offering to give Jaskier a tour of the keep. Later, he would drop off Jaskier in the library, just in time to catch the tail end of Vesemir’s lesson.

He spent the rest of the afternoon giving Princess Cirilla the best acapella concert of their lives, getting lost in the music as he found the perfect corner that bounced his voice around the entire room, much to their entertainment. Manfully, he managed to ignore the three Witchers listening by the door, even when a large stein of ale found its way next to his elbow. 

“Come. It’s dinner time.” Vesemir waited for a break between songs before summoning them out of the library. “Jaskier, you and Ciri as well.” He didn’t bother raising his voice and yet Jaskier obeyed, offering his hand to Ciri as they followed the Witchers down to the kitchens. 

“You’re staying tonight and we’ll give you a proper send-off in the morning.” Vesemir spoke with that innate command in his voice that told he was used to being obeyed. “No running off before dawn. Definitely Geralt’s boy if you attempt to pull that stunt again.”

Vesemir spoke under his breath, fully aware he was heard by the enhanced ears in the hall, and Jaskier didn’t know how to feel with the comparison. On one hand, he was finally able to understand where some of his quirks came from, but on the other, knew that he was Nothing Like Geralt. The only reason he was able to leave as early as he could, was that insomnia had gripped his throat and refused to let go. After waking up from his chaos-induced nap, he had spent a few hours repacking his small travel bag before giving up and heading out in the barest of pre-dawn light. 

He thought that would be it.

He was wrong.

And he, oddly, didn’t regret following Geralt one last time. He had finally gotten the answers he had been looking for his entire life. Or, really, he had known these answers for years, having heard the same things when talking to Geralt about Princess Cirilla. Those reasons always seemed too well rehearsed, especially for Geralt being such a man of few words. Now he knew the truth: that he had been telling himself the same thing about another child the whole time. How many times, had Geralt tried to leave in that first month, only to come back? It was almost a comfort, that month, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I am that Sick Fuck Mage. ^_^


	3. I'll think about it

“Over here.” It was early. Very early. But still not as early as the previous morning. Still, Jaskier hadn’t expected Eskel to be outside already, waving from what smelled like the stables. “Come help me.” Jaskier blinked, but couldn’t find an excuse to disobey. 

Inside, two horses were tied out and halfway to being kitted up. In one of the well-appointed stalls was a familiar brown horse. “Hello Roach, how are you this fine morning?” He cooed, stroking the mare’s nose and apologizing for not having any treats for her. The horse huffed and headbutted him, nearly knocking him back.

“I was worried when she came in without Geralt yesterday.” Eskel spoke more to the black horse, stroking its -his, definitely a he- nose.

“Yeah, well, Geralt sent her ahead when I refused to ride with him.” 

Eskel nodded, as if that made sense. Then again, Eskel probably understood Geralt in ways that he never could. “Thought it would be something like that. Could you finish tacking up Pegasus for me?” He gestured to the dappled grey. “I need to grab a few things first.”

“Going hunting?” Jaskier asked, already introducing himself to the dapple.

“Not really, no.” Coming out of the tack room with two sets of saddlebags tossed over his shoulders. “Thought I’d escort you down the mountain, if you don’t mind the company. I’d at least like to have a proper conversation with my son at least once in case we never get to see each other again.”

Ooh, that was lying it on  _ thick.  _ Jaskier looked at him, blinked and turned back to the dapple, checking its girth strap. “Do what you will. I know I can’t stop a Witcher, even if I felt like trying.”

“Geralt’s a stubborn bastard, alright.” Eskel agreed, all too used to reading more into what  _ wasn’t  _ said than what actually came out of someone’s mouth. “It’s definitely one of his major failings.”

That got a snort out of Jaskier and an agreeing nod. “So… who else is coming to ‘escort’ me down. Definitely not Roach since she’s still in her stall.”

“Do you… not ride horses?” Eskel blinked. 

“...What?” Jaskier scrunched his brows and fiddled with Pegasus’ bridle, making sure it was snug and secure. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I was going to have you take Pegasus down. But if you don’t want to, that’s fine. It’ll just make the trip down more comfortable.” At Jaskier’s blank look, Eskel gave him a half-smile. “What, did you think I would ride while making you wal-“ He drifted off, his face running a gamut of emotions before settling on a snarl as he paced the run between the stalls briefly. “Of  _ course  _ he would. During the  _ entire  _ time you were following him, did he never, not once, ever bring up the thought of getting you your own horse?” 

Jaskier shrugged, taking the time to think back before shaking his head. “ _ I’m going to kill him.”  _ Eskel muttered, slinging the saddle bags onto the black and dapple horses respectively. “Please tell me that you have one now and it’s waiting down in the village for you.” Silence was all the answer he needed before sighing and handing Jaskier Pegasus’ reins, gesturing for him to follow. 

Outside, he saw Vesemir and Ciri in the courtyard, waiting to send them off. “Got everything packed then?” Vesemir addressed them both, getting a nod from Eskel. 

“Everything’s situated for the trip.” 

“Good.”

“Jaskier!” Ciri couldn’t hold herself back anymore and launched herself at the bard, nearly catching him by surprise and knocking him off balance. As it was, he caught her with a grunt and hefted her up into his arms like she was three again on pure instinct. “You have to come back to at least visit, ok?” 

“I…” Jaskier closed his mouth and gave her a tight smile. “We’ll see.” 

“That’s not good enough.” He didn’t have to look to hear the pout on her face. 

“...I know.” He wouldn’t make promises. Not when he was still unsure on where he stood with Geralt. Sure the whole… mother… thing, but that didn’t make up for, well, everything. The more he thought of it, the bad- the small abuses and neglect- slowly started to outweigh the good. And, frankly, those good times were quickly being tarnished as he wiped away the optimistic glaze he had always dipped them in. 

Even now, noticing Geralt’s conspicuous absence in the courtyard, he would have been willing to give that promise, given Geralt’s permission, to come again. But as it was, he knew well to not linger where he wasn’t wanted. 

“...I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” Jaskier whispered back, touching their foreheads and holding her in a tight hug. “Next time we see each other, you’ll have to show me what you learned, ok?” It wasn’t a promise, but at least it wasn’t a final goodbye.

“Okay.” Ciri nodded before wiggling down and stepping back to give Vesemir his turn.

“You  _ will  _ come back here.” Vesemir stated, giving no room to argue as he grabbed Jaskier’s nape. Seeing Jaskier’s reluctance, he gave him a little shake. “No fool son of mine will chase away my grandchildren, you hear me?”

“I-“ Jaskier squeaked -squeaked- before shaking his head. 

“Geralt was  _ wrong.”  _ Vesemir growled out, his hand warm on Jaskier’s neck. “I’ve missed a good forty years of your life, half of which, Geralt should have brought you up here at any time. I don’t intend to miss any more. You _will_ come up here next you’re free of your duties. Preferably for the winter so that you can meet the rest of the family as well.”

“I-“ Jaskier’s throat clicked as he ducked his head. “Yes. Sir. I’ll try my best.”

“Good.” Using the grip on his nape, he drew Jaskier into a rough embrace, making him squawk in surprise. He stood stiff for almost too long before he relaxed into the embrace, leaning his weight into the old man and taking in his scent. Even with no blood ties between the majority of them, they all smelled similar. He didn’t know if it was the keep itself, or something with the mutations, but they all smelled like  _ family.  _ Just like Geralt always had. 

Pulling back, Vesemir gave the boy one last look over before nodding to himself and clapping Jaskier on the shoulders. “Didn’t think the thing this old keep was missing was music after all this time. Keep yourself safe and in one piece and I expect you back up here soon.” 

“Yes, sir.” Stepping back, he took the reins that Eskel handed over and they walked over to the portcullis.

Easily swinging up on his own horse, Eskel paused with his leg halfway over and stared over at Jaskier. “Uh… do you need help? Have you ridden a horse before?”

Looking up from petting Pegasus’ neck, Jaskier blinked and shrugged. “A few times when I was a kid. Been a while, but I’ll be fine.” 

“...So you say.” Eskel finished mounting, but watched Jaskier closely as he made a little hop and scrambled up onto the saddle in a way that screamed more than ‘a few times’. Still, he was glad to see Jaskier comfortable around the horse. And the horse around him. 

Giving Jaskier a minute to make any last-minute adjustments, such as the girth and the stirrups, Eskel took the lead out of the keep at an easy ground-eating canter. 

What Jaskier didn’t expect, nor was he prepared for, was for Eskel to be the one to initiate small talk between them by pointing out some interesting landmarks as they passed. What he had expected, was silence like there would have been following Geralt, so his mind had drifted toward his upcoming mission. So deep in his thoughts, he hadn’t realized he was giving Geralt-like grunts in response, drawing an amused look or two from Eskel.

Around mid morning, Eskel slowed them down so that he could twist around and dig through his saddlebags. “Here.” He held out a cloth wrapped bundle toward Jaskier, having to tap him in the arm with it before the bard realized and took it. “You skipped breakfast again.”

“Oh… Thanks.” Unwrapping the bundle revealed a handful of sausage stuffed rolls, still somehow warm after however long they had been in Eskel’s bag. Taking one, he offered the rest back to Eskel, who shook his head, saying that he already ate his earlier. 

“So...Music.” Eskel grinned. “I never thought that you would have been a bard, of all things.”

“Oh.” Jaskier drew back into himself, the sausage turning to ash in his mouth.

“No, that’s fantastic! Your voice last night, I can only imagine how much better it is with an instrument. I definitely am a fan now. Geralt said you played the lute, right?”

Jaskier nodded. “Among a few other things, but lute is definitely my favorite.”

“Oh? What else do you play?” 

“Well… Jaskier thought through what he had picked up in the past. “Pretty much anything. I also play the viol and hurdy gurdy. Uh... the dulcimer. Rebec, harpsichord… A bit of the flute, but I’m not the biggest fan of it.”

“I would give my best dagger, you’re still better at me with the flute. Picked one up a while ago and I can play the scales on a good day. It gets quiet out on the path.”

“Yeah it does.” Jaskier murmured, finishing the roll and tucking the rest away for later in his satchel. “Sounds like you just need the practice, really.” 

“What I  _ need _ , is for someone to show me what I’ve been doing wrong.” 

The invitation Jaskier didn’t fail to notice, but he decided to play ignorant to save his heart. “I can ask around, see if someone would be willing to tutor you if you ever visited Oxenfurt.”

“That would be nice, thank you.” Eskel was… surprisingly genuine when he replied, surprising Jaskier. He thought that he would push for Jaskier to teach him, but he was just… taking what Jaskier offered back without complaint. “I've heard good things about the college, it would be nice to finally have an excuse to go see it for myself.” Shit… he would actually have to ask around next time he was visiting. Or just actually tutor Eskel- his father- himself. 

That conversation soon fizzled out, Jaskier not quite sure how to deal with Eskel. Everyone wanted him for something, but Eskel, as far as he could tell, didn’t have an agenda beyond wanting to get to know Jaskier. If anything, Jaskier was a talker… but not about himself. Because when he started to talk, eyes soon glazed over and he was dismissed as being chatty but ultimately harmless. At least, when it came to anything that wasn’t already part of his Troubadour persona. When it came to music or the latest fashions or shallow gossip at court, he could gossip with the best. He could count with fingers left over the amount of times he had any significant conversations with strangers who actually cared what he said. 

The rest of the day, conversation happened in spits and spurts, but eventually they found their groove and started talking about everything and anything that struck their fancy. It was… a strange experience, to say the least. Not unpleasant in the least, just… strange. 

“Let's stop here for the night.” Eskel pointed out a decently-sized cave with a trail of smoke trailing up from the entrance.

Jaskier blinked, looking up to check the sun’s position and made a confused noise. “It’s still light out, so we can still travel for a few more hours. And besides, it looks like someone’s already pitched camp there for the night.”

“I would hope so.” Eskel replied, already pointing his horse toward the cave. “Seeing as Geralt headed out at sunrise to scout ahead.” 

“He… what?” 

“So supper should be done soon, if it isn’t already.” Eskel continued, tying his horse to a sturdy line strung between two trees over a good patch of grass. The setup looked well-used by those using the path to and from the keep. “Tomorrow’s going to be the rough part of the trail, so we should camp and rest up while we can.” 

Seeing no other choice, Jaskier dismounted and looked around, eventually just ending up tying Pegasus to the same line as the other horse. Entering the cave, he looked around, expecting Geralt to be inside with Eskel. He didn’t know if he was disappointed or relieved when he realized that he wasn’t. “...I never did get the name of your horse…?”

Looking up from what looked like a pair of very large rabbits set high over the flame to roast slowly, Eskel grinned. “Scorpion.”

“Like the insect, or is this another fish species that I know nothing about?”

Eskel couldn’t help but to snort as he rotated the conies on the spit slightly. “Is that what he’s telling everyone? No, he lost a bet… years ago. Being a stupid kid, he lost and had to name his first horse after the first thing he saw after getting it. And the name’s just stuck. So, no, Scorpion’s after the insect. Black as night, and had a wicked tempter as a colt. Would bite and kick at the first chance he got, until I finally trained him out of it.”

“And what about Pegasus?”

“Ah.” Eskel rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Got him as a law of surprise. Turned out this farmer’s prize mare just dropped her foal a couple years ago, and I went back to get him when I passed through last fall, already saddle-trained and everything. Farmer gave him the most unfortunate name though and Ciri insisted on renaming him.”

“Worse than Roach?” 

“Yep. Farmer’s kid named him Potato.” 

Jaskier choked on his own spit, laughing and coughing at the same time. Eventually, he calmed back down, wiping tears from his eyes. “Potato~” He crooned, chuckling at the name. “Ah, yes, I can see how ‘Pegasus’ would be better. Is he to be her horse then?”

Eskel shook his head, poking the conies with his knife. “We thought so. But Ciri’s likely going to be at the keep for at least the next few years and that’s far too long to keep a horse in a stable.”

“...We?” 

Eskel nodded. “Geralt brought it up after you went to bed last night, and both Vesemir and I agree that, if you would like, he would be yours. Geralt’s already been working with him, so he’s well trained, if a bit slow and stubborn, if you believe what Geralt says.”

“And Ciri doesn’t mind?” 

“She didn’t seem to, when we left this morning. To be fair, I think she might be wary of him. And, like I said, it's better for the horse this way too.”

“And when Ciri is old enough to leave the keep once more, is Geralt going to make her walk too?” He hadn’t meant to sound so bitter there.

“That will be up to you.” Eskel made sure to maintain eye contact with his son. “If the time comes and you would be more comfortable without a horse, or with a different horse, you can give him back to Ciri. Though, more than likely, if she’s meant to have a horse, destiny will find a way to make it happen.” 

Taking the spits off the fire, he handed over a whole conie and started to dig in on his own. 

Jaskier, on the other hand, took his cautiously, but didn’t start to eat. Instead, Jaskier looked around. “... Will Geralt be joining us, now that the rabbits are cooked?” 

Shaking his head, Eskel absently wiped juice off his chin before responding. “We thought you would be more comfortable if Geralt kept his distance during this trip. Though, if you really wish it, I’m sure that he’s still within yelling distance.”

“No, that’s ok.” Jaskier finally bit into his own rabbit. “...Thank you.” Eskel was near-positive that it wasn’t for the conies. 

Their dinner was unhurried, but mostly silent as they enjoyed both the nice weather and the shelter that the cave provided from the heat. Tossing the remains of his rabbit into the fire, Eskel wiped his hands on his pants. “Right. Geralt said that you wanted to learn Supirre.”

In response, Jaskier gave him a blank look, his mouth still full of rabbit meat, before swallowing. “Geralt-” And wasn’t it strange to call him that now? “Was the one to bring it up. I don’t even know what it does.”

Eskel returned the blank look before rolling his eyes. “Of course.” he muttered before turning back to Jaskier. “It’s an eavesdropping spell. Definitely not one that Geralt uses too often, if you’ve never seen it, but it does have its uses. And if you’re acting as a spy, I can see why he would bring it up.”

“So, what does it actually do?” Jaskier was… cautiously intrigued. 

“It suppresses background noise so that you can hear your intended target clearer and from further away.”

Jaskier blinked. That was… actually a useful sign, surprisingly. Also, he could already see why Geralt wouldn’t use it too often. 

Seeing as he had the boy’s attention, Eskel pulled out his boot knife and started drawing in the dirt. “This one is different from most of the others, since it's technically a sigil instead of a sign, though I did hear a rumor that someone from the Viper school managed to use it as strictly a sign. Like Yrden, it has to be cast against a solid surface, like  _ so. _ ” Putting the knife aside, Eskel touched the sign with a finger and closed his eyes to listen briefly. The sign, in the meanwhile, glowed faintly golden while it was active. Opening his eyes, Eskel pulled back and gestured to the sigil. “How about you try. Focus on the deer over there and tell me how many there are.”

“You mean there’s more than the two?” 

“I… huh.” Eskel blinked, tilting his head and staring at Jaskier for a good minute. “You got good ears, kid. Or, actually, how did you know?”

Jaskier shrugged, looking over at where he could hear the mother and her fawn grazing, hoping to catch a glimpse. “I have good ears.”

“Okay then.” Eskel racked his mind, trying to come up with a challenge to test Jaskier’s ability with and without the sign. “How about Geralt? Can you hear him?”

Focusing for a moment, Jaskier hummed lowly before shaking his head. “Try it with the sign.” Eskel murmured, now aware of just how sensitive Jaskier’s ears were. “Just push a touch of your chaos into this one and listen, then I’ll show you how to draw it later.” Nodding, Jaskier touched the sigil and watched it flicker golden before closing his eyes and listening. What he didn’t know, but Eskel saw clearly, was that as soon as he focused, the sigil lit up bright and steadily, lighting warmth behind his breastbone as well. Given focus, he could be powerful in the signs as well. 

“He’s walking away from us.” Jaskier whispered, wincing at the volume of his own voice before trying to speak even quieter. “He’s not taking the path, walking through too much underbrush for that.”

Seeing the strain around his eyes, Eskel, instead of speaking, brushed his hand away from the sigil. He waited until Jaskier had opened his eyes before giving him a proud smile. “That’s enough for now.” He mouthed and just barely spoke. “Come here.” Having seen the same expression on Geralt’s face when his senses became Too Much, he knew just what to do. 

Making sure to wipe away the sigil so that it wouldn’t be accidentally activated, Eskel guided Jaskier to lay down, his head pillowed on Eskel’s crossed calves. Laying a damp folded handkerchief over his eyes blocked out most of the rest of the fading light. “This will help.” Gently, he started massaging small circles on his temples and the base of his skull on either side of his spine. “Tomorrow, I’ll show you how to draw the sign.” Jaskier hummed in acknowledgement before he slowly relaxed into the touch.

Eventually, Eskel laid out his bedroll and, upon realizing that Jaskier’s was hardly more than a horse blanket, tucked him in his and settled down to meditate for the night. 

In the morning, Jaskier awoke to Geralt’s scent being fresh, though quickly fleeting, leaving behind a basket of fresh berries and greens for breakfast. After making sure Jaskier was feeling better and eating, Eskel showed him how to draw the sigil once more and they headed off down the mountain. 

It was indeed the more perilous part of the path, having to cross a shale field at one point, forcing them to dismount so that they could lead the horses across the slippery stones carefully. Between that and a series of switchbacks that looked to be a complete nightmare during the muddy seasons, Jaskier was glad for the company and intimate knowledge of the path. How he had made the journey himself was frankly a miracle. Then again, he had taken the apparently more meandering, but ultimately safer, path. The one that took nearly a week to traverse in good weather, not the one that only took a day and a half, but was infamous for its body count from the unwary. 

Finally getting to land that looked somewhat familiar, Jaskier let go of a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding. At last, the trailhead came into view, marking his near-return into civilization. But still, Eskel led them both off the path at this point, and toward a familiar scent. Coming to a well-established clearing, Jaskier realized that this was another spot they visited frequently. It was just far enough off the trailhead that the casual passer-by wouldn’t be able to notice, but it was simple for a Witcher to monitor the road. Bushes had been carefully tended over the years to block most of the wind and spying eyes, hiding a small shelter and well-established fire pit. 

And in the middle of it all, was Geralt, poking at a stew that was boiling away over the fire. “One last meal before you head off?” Eskel suggested with an unapologetic shrug.

“...Yeah. Sure.” Still, as reluctant as he was for the company, he was actually looking forward to Geralt’s stew. When he actually took the time to forage and hunt and cook it down properly, it had to be one of Jaskier’s favorite meals on the Path. 

Almost before he even dismounted the horse, Geralt was already checking over Pegasus, making sure the gelding was still trail-fit after spending so long at the keep, either in the stables or out in one of the pastures with the other four-legged animals of the keep. “He’s fine. I took care of him for you.” Jaskier reassured, borderline insulted at Geralt’s apparent lack of trust with the animal.

“I’m making sure he can take care of you.” Geralt replied, checking Pegasus’ hooves with the hoof pick in his pocket. “There’s a care kit in one of the bags. You know how to handle Roach. It’s the same procedure.”

“...Oh.” They were serious about the horse. “...Thank you.”

Geralt looked up until they made eye contact, then nodded sharply and grunted before finishing his inspection. “Stew will be ready soon.” 

“Good, I’m starving.” Eskel piped up, finishing with untacking Scorpion and tying him out before perching on one of the logs around the fire and reaching for the pot. A familiar warning growl from Geralt stopped him in his tracks. “... Got it.”

Finishing up, Geralt left the gelding tacked up, but led him over near Scorpion to graze before joining Jaskier and Eskel by the fire. Grabbing the largest bowl, he didn’t serve Eskel with it, but Jaskier first, splitting smaller bowls between himself and Eskel. Plenty remained in the pot, and when Jaskier finished his, Geralt wordlessly offered him a second bowlful- just as full as the first. 

In fact, if it wasn’t for being attentive to Jaskier’s needs by offering him refills and even a wineskin Geralt pulled from somewhere, Jaskier would say that it was like practically every other meal on the path with Geralt. The man staring into the fire, as if it contained all life’s wrongs and he was glaring it into submission. 

“I’m sorry.” Geralt spoke more to the fire, but Jaskier knew it was for him. It was only years of knowing that prodding him would only clam him up worse that stopped Jaskier from asking ‘what?’ “I… fucked up. Badly.”

“I regretted what I said to you after what happened with Yen. I still do. I didn’t mean it.” 

“At the time, you did.” Jaskier spoke to the dregs of his stew, playing with a stray potato piece with his spoon.

“...Yes.” Geralt closed his eyes with a sigh. There was nothing he could say to defend his actions that didn’t sound like an excuse. “It was wrong.”

That drew a hollow laugh from Jaskier. “You’re very good at blaming the misfortune of your decisions on others.” 

Geralt grunted in agreement, earning a sharp kick and a warning look from Eskel in response. 

“I mean, sure, you were there at the betrothal because I asked you to come, but nobody forced you to call law of surprise. And the Djinn… Well, neither of us were really in the best mindset for that kerfuffle. I can tell you right now, I’m now  _ very _ careful on how drunk I get around others. Still want Valdo to choke on his own silk scarf though, that won’t ever change.”

“Valdo?” Eskel asked, amused and vaguely concerned.

“Another bard.” Geralt explained the same time Jaskier said “An ex.”

“Though…” Jaskier looked between his parents and didn’t allow himself to  _ think about it _ too hard and what it could potentially mean for him and his own sex life. “I’m glad we never got too far before I found out he only wanted me for my lyrics… and was already married.”

“...Cidaris, correct?” Geralt asked and it only took a moment for Jaskier to catch on.

“NO!” Jaskier poked Geralt in the chest. “Well, yes and I frankly would think the world would be a better place without that smarmy parasite, but no!” Geralt’s expression wasn’t soothing in the least as he patted Jaskier on the head. Jaskier growled a low warning in response. 

Looking down, Jaskier finished the last few bites of stew and stood up, waving off Geralt’s offer of a third helping. “I need to get going.” Eskel nodded, saying his goodbye in a more reserved manner, not wanting to crowd the boy.

Geralt, on the other hand, grabbed Pegasus’ bridle as Jaskier mounted, leading the horse out to the trailhead before turning and looking up. “The others will want to get to know you more. You’re welcome to Kaer Morhen at any time.”

“And you?” Jaskier looked down, remembering the last time they spoke and Jaskier had the high ground.

In response, Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s calf. “A second chance? I know I’m the last one to ask that, let alone deserve it.”

“I’ll think about it.” And that’s all he could really promise. “Goodbye, Geralt.” kicking Pegasus into a trot, he slipped out of Geralt’s grasp. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday to Me, Happy Birthday to Me, Happy birthday to Me-e, Have some emotional trau-ma! 
> 
> ^_^ Don't worry, they'll be back in part 2! As soon as I finish the sucker.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be part of a series. I have three fics planned out so far, and (optimistically) mostly written. I will 100% say that this is really a gift for myself. And while I'm a fan of the subject matter, I've never allowed myself to actually write anything down for it before.


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